Cold Reads: The Hellbound Heart by Clive Barker

When we sleep, why is it so easy for our dreams to
descend into nightmares? Why is our first reaction to a sudden pain
to laugh at the sensation? Everything that exists seems to overlap
into the next, breaking the barriers. The world of fantasy is just a
breath away from reality, phantoms eagerly pressing in around the
corners of our lives until they crack. Perhaps one of the most
terrifying things about Clive Barker's novella "The Hellbound
Heart" is that it reveals to us (and revels in) the symbiotic
relationship between pain and pleasure, light and darkness, and the
toll that it takes on our souls.

Frank has just received a most curious puzzle. Having
tired of all the earthly pleasures and depravities to be had, Frank
has been given Lemarchand's Box, a tool that will open the gates of
another world and allow the emissaries of the Order of the Gash to
come forward and bless him with pleasure unlimited. He soon finds out
that there are differing levels of pleasure and remains trapped in
the world of the Cenobites, his flesh at their mercy for what seems
like an eternity. Frank's brother Rory and his cold-hearted wife
Julia soon move into the house in which Frank made his untimely
departure. When Rory's blood is spilled upon the floorboards of the
accursed room, it awakens Frank's remains, which call out to Julia
from the netherworld. Possessed by her deep love for and fascination
with Frank, Julia begins to make sacrifices in order to restore Frank
to human form. It is now up to Kirsty, a poor girl in love with Rory,
to stop Frank's return and deal with the Cenobites who have come
calling for their escaped soul...

This
book is one nasty little piece of work. This is not to say that it is
bad or of poor quality. It is just relentless in its pursuit to shock
and repulse you. The first chapter alone is filled with horrifying
and gut-wrenching imagery. After foolishly inviting the demons to
bestow their gifts upon him, Frank is assaulted by a sudden, intense
attack of highly acute senses. The most miniscule of sensations seem
to ripple throughout his body like electric waves. His mind is
besieged by sensuous fantasies of women which drive him to masturbate
just in order to get them out of his head. After all this is over, he
is confronted by a female Cenobite sitting on a pile of human heads.
Rows of human tongues adorn her legs like perverse trophies and her
genitalia are horribly mutilated. Then, in the most playful and
seductive of tones, she invites Frank to really
begin
enjoying his new gift.

The insane opening is sure to put off some horror
readers who are not use to such disturbing images in their
literature. However, if one can get past the icky aesthetics, a
deeper meaning will be discovered. Barker has a point in illustrating
all these demented pictures to us. He is showing us how frail the
line that separates our extreme emotional responses really is. The
female Cenobite, for example, is upon first glance completely
disgusting. The image of the tongues on her legs, however, stirs a
sexual response in the reader's mind. The thought of sex is usually
associated with pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling, the "happy
place." And yet amongst all the horror and ugliness this creature
possesses, these thoughts of happiness and satisfaction invariably
arise. It makes you shiver (with fear or ecstasy?) to realize just
how closely these emotional responses are related.

Even
during the scenes of "normal" sexuality, the reader also can't
help but feel that something is a little... off.
In one chapter, Julia passionately recalls the night prior to her
wedding with Rory. The temptress wasn't engaging in some
pre-marital hanky panky with her groom, though, but rather with his
strapping brother Frank. As if the thought of infidelity isn't
enough to unsettle us (they didn't even have cake yet!), Barker
takes it to another level. Julia blatantly admits to herself that her
sinful act felt more like a vicious rape (physically and mentally)
than consensual lovemaking. And despite all of this, she enjoyed
it. This may be simply because Julia may have a few screws loose, but
this kind of admission seems to be saying something more. Barker is
saying that we need some form of violence, some form of horror in our
lives to help give us a clear sense of being alive. Pain and pleasure
are intertwined, like strands of DNA. It is when we can experience
them both simultaneously that we can go through truly transcendental
occurrences.

All the characters in the story seem to be longing for
more, wanting escape from their dull, drab lives. They also each
appear to be dead in some manner, even before their last literal
breaths. There is no real life behind their eyes, just that driving
motivation to find... something. Frank wants something new, a
plaything that won't bore him after three minutes, similar to a
child at Christmas. He has rejected the world, deeming it an unworthy
place for his presence. He feeds on lust and greed, his later thirst
for blood equivalent to the hunger he felt for thrills in his human
life. Julia wants to find love, or at least some kind of passion. She
turns away from her own husband in her search, a search that leads
her to make a Faustian pact that seals her fate. It is bone chilling
to watch her seduce her victims and butcher them with the ease and
poise of an accomplished murderess. Her constant comparison of these
men to lambs on their way to the slaughter should raise a few hairs
as well. Rory is looking for answers and some form of sense in an
insane, lunatic world. He is the puppet of both Frank and Julia,
constantly running about in circles that he is unaware of being the
manipulations of his supposed loved ones.

And
in this entire mix, there is Kirsty. She is the type of sweet, naïve
girl who you could picture taking home to the parents. She, like
Rory, does not take any initiative action in the story, but rather
reacts to the doings of others. She literally stumbles with both her
clumsiness and her feelings for Rory for most of the book. She is a
wallflower, too shy and meek to speak her mind. In these terms,
Kirsty may be labeled as socially
deceased.
Only when Lemarchand's Box falls into her lap and she becomes the
next target for the Cenobites does she finally take the bull by the
horns. The Cenobites themselves, ironically, seem to be the conduits
of life and vitality. It is when they make their entrance that the
other characters are awakened from their selfishness and pathetic
pursuits. Through pain and torture, the Cenobites are giving the gift
of life and terrifying sensation.

With all these layered messages being delivered, you
would think that Barker would lose his handle on one of the most
essential aspects of horror fiction: atmosphere. It pleases me to say
that this assumption would be incorrect. One of the things that makes
Barker so positively unique is that he unabashedly uses the world of
fantasy in his horror tales. When I say this, I'm not necessarily
referring to the supernatural realm of vampires, werewolves, and
boogeymen. Barker brings a strange, intoxicating sense of pure magic
to his stories. It's the type of fantasy that your dreams are made
of, set to the trappings of a ghost story.

Barker hardly ever uses recognizable ghoulies and
long-leggity beasties; his monsters are completely fresh and
disturbingly human. His creatures are twisted men and women, stripped
of both flesh and humanity until there is only an unearthly hunger
left. There is a haunting moment when Kirsty, fleeing from the wrath
the Cenobites are inflicting upon Frank, encounters a mystical being
known as the Engineer. The artisan of torture is embodied as a
specter wearing Julia's wedding dress, its head only a glowing
flame. The moment is very brief, but the image stays with you. Barker
vividly weaves his world of crowing birds, tolling bells, and the
dark kingdom they inhabit to the pitch perfect level of genius. He is
the literary equivalent of David Lynch, a talent who is completely in
touch with nightmares and dreamscapes and portraying them in the ways
that both pleasure and frighten us.

While it may be one-third the size of a best-selling
novel, "The Hellbound Heart" packs a massive punch to the gut
while stirring up the contents of the cranium. It is advised that
anyone who is prone to fainting or have weak hearts and stomachs not
to enter this theater of the macabre. The prose will dig into your
skin with the fierce grip of the Cenobites's hooks and not let go
until you have finished the book. As a last word of warning, it is
asked that you please keep your hands and feet in the vehicle at all
times. Clive Barker is behind the wheel and our destination is that
damnable, mystifying, hellbound human heart.

Editor's Note: Barker made a film version of his novella, titled Hellraiser, which spawned several sequels.

The thing that I always found most bizarre about the book is the intentional refusal to explicate more than necessary about the relationships between the characters. Specifically, in the movie adaptation, Kirsty is the Rory-equivalent character's daughter from a previous marriage, whereas this is never made clear in the book. In fact, we're offered virtually no clue about what the exact relationship is between Kirsty and Rory -- father and daughter? siblings? cousins? exes who've remained on good terms? All possibilities apply about equally.

Hey Jose, really enjoyed reading your feature. Clive Barker's always been a favorite of mine, and you did a great job of showcasing one of his finer works. Can't wait to read what you come up with next.

I've never actually read a Clive Barker book. (My days are filled with things like Mary Gaitskill, who is horrifying in her own way.) But this intrigues me--particularly the Christly aspect of "lambs" being led to the slaughter. Mayhaps I will read this one.

For whatever reason, I've never sought to read this. Although your synopsis and interpretation has me intrigued, I must say that the events you describe and the warnings you present have me wary. The movies themselves were enough to unsettle me; I can't imagine what the novella would do.

Once again, though, you've made a convincing argument for reading, Jose (albeit genre-specific). It's a crime I can't get your articles into the hands of more people than I can, sir. We'll fight the good fight together!